The Coffee Deck
August 4, 2005

There’s this place in my life called the coffee deck. It sits attached to the back of a charming lakeside cottage on Lake Memphremagog, three miles from the Canadian border. Facing east to welcome the morning sun, my haven of wood is a dozen feet long, half as wide, and painted one of the thousand shades of green bursting in Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom. 

From my deck I watch the sunrise over Brigham Hill, eavesdropping on busy birds chatting with their neighbors, and I am filled with the desire for some early morning conversation, too. I meet my mom on the deck where two old fashioned metal chairs, surprisingly sturdy and comfortable, welcome the early risers. The chairs bounce a little as I sit, waking up my sleepy bones, stirring my body gently into conversation over hot coffee splashed with cream. It’s simple stuff like “how did you sleep last night?” and “isn’t it a gorgeous morning?” Slowly shooting the breeze with a live person- nothing heavy, nothing profound, just quiet conversation to welcome the day.

Last week I sat with mom on the coffee deck and we sipped steaming Dominican coffee, nibbled on sugar crullers. It was a blissful morning, my only one on a blitz-visit as teenagers experimented with holding down the fort down at home. They are old enough to stay alone, but not old enough for me to relax about it, so my cell phone was there to cushion concern. As mom and I chatted, my phone rang, ordering me to answer it. I am disgraced to admit it, but I did answer it, and more than once. With one fell swoop of technology I eclipsed years of a timeless, dignified ritual- quiet conversation on the coffee deck. I was caught squarely in a breech between courtesy and convenience and I am sad to say that technology won that round. 

Kim Dannies is a graduate of La Varenne Cooking School in France. She lives in Williston, VT with her husband, Jeff, and three college–aged daughters who come and go. ©2008